


But I've Lost All Control

by BreTheWriter



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Country McKirk, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, USS Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 12:25:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2850794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BreTheWriter/pseuds/BreTheWriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Don't call me</i> are the last words Leonard says as he storms out of his apartment after a fight with Jim. But once the anger starts to fade, both of them start thinking that maybe that contact isn't such a bad idea after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But I've Lost All Control

**Author's Note:**

  * For [feverpitchfiasco](https://archiveofourown.org/users/feverpitchfiasco/gifts).



> MERRY CHRISTMAS, [feverpitchfiasco!](http://feverpitchfiasco.tumblr.com) This is my contribution to the McKirk Secret Santa 2014. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it!
> 
> The title--and the basic idea behind the story--is from the song [Need You Now by Lady Antebellum.](http://youtu.be/eM213aMKTHg) It did not go remotely in the direction I was expecting. (Ironically, I finished it at quarter after one. No joke. Listen to the song and you'll get why that's ironic...)
> 
>  **EDIT:** Sorry, guys, the tags got messed up. This is McKirk, not Spones. Also, just as a warning, there is some unfaithfulness here. Should've thought to tag for that and I'm sorry.

"Don't call me," were Leonard's final words as he stormed out of Jim's quarters, wishing the doors were the old-fashioned kind that could be slammed.

"Don't flatter yourself," Jim yelled after him.

Leonard and Jim had been friends for almost four years now, and lovers for the past year and a bit. They bickered frequently, argued often, and bantered almost constantly; it was inevitable with two people as stubborn as they were, and more, with two people who'd been dealt the hands they had and had learned to cover up the pain with sarcasm and bitterness. But fights, actual, serious fights, were rare. In the entire time they'd known each other, they'd only had two.

This was number three.

As Leonard fumed in the lift down to the main floor, he couldn't even think back to how it had actually started. Probably some minor irritation that he'd exploded over. Usually when he blew up like that, Jim would diffuse the tension with a crack, and even while Leonard railed at him that it _wasn't funny, dammit,_ he would be relaxing and they'd eventually forgive each other. But this time, Jim had flared up in reply, and soon they were nose to nose, red in the face and shouting at one another. The next thing Leonard knew, he was throwing things at random into a bag and heading out the door, still shouting at Jim as Jim yelled back angrily.

Reaching the lobby, he strode out to the parking lot at the rear. Jim's motorbike, a death trap on two wheels, sat under a small shelter designed to keep it out of the weather, but Leonard ignored it. Instead, he headed over to the rusty red pickup he'd bought secondhand during his first summer in San Francisco, unlocked the door, and threw his bag onto the passenger seat hard enough that it made a loud _bang_ as it hit the door. He dropped heavily into the driver's seat, slammed the door, and started the engine with unnecessary force. Quickly, he backed out of the parking space, turned onto the street, and drove away.

 _Where_ didn't really matter. It only mattered that he was going.

For the first part of the drive, Leonard gritted his teeth and muttered under his breath, his focus laser-like on the road immediately in front of him. After a while, as his initial rage began to recede, he allowed himself to think back, to the apartment and the fight.

Whatever had started it, whatever they'd been shouting about, Leonard was honest enough to admit that it wasn't _really_ what the fight was about. The truth was that neither one of them was dealing well with what had happened to Jim. They were dancing around the subject, but that kind of stress was bound to come out in other ways.

Leonard usually kept himself from saying anything because he thought it would be selfish to. This wasn't about him. _Jim_ was the one who'd lost his command (however briefly), who'd lost his father figure, who'd lost his goddamned _life._ He'd sacrificed himself for their sakes--for Leonard's sake. It wasn't fair to him to mention that it had affected Leonard adversely.

But...it was _Jim._ Jim was the one who'd brought light back into Leonard's life after Jocelyn's betrayal. He was the one who'd been a friend when Leonard needed one the most, who'd been his rock. He was the love of Leonard's life, and when he'd unzipped that body bag and seen Jim's face, it had almost destroyed him. If the tribble hadn't purred at just the right moment, he would have been too deep in despair to see it, would have lost Jim for good.

He didn't feel like he could say that to Jim. Certainly didn't feel like he had the right to mention why he wasn't going to the clinics, why he hadn't tended to Jim after he'd woken from his coma, why he was home so much. Jim didn't need the added layer of guilt that would come if he knew how close Leonard had come to losing his medical license, his Starfleet commission, even his freedom.

But it was affecting him. And that found its way out in other ways.

Leonard drove and drove, not really paying attention to where he was going, just heading down the road and occasionally swearing at other drivers. At last, he glanced at the chronometer and was startled to realize that it was almost ten o'clock at night. He couldn't face going back to the apartment, couldn't face Jim, so he decided to look for a hotel. Flipping on his turn signal, he exited the interstate and started looking for a sign.

" _Boise?!_ When the hell did I get to _Boise?!_ " Leonard practically shouted when his eyes finally fell on a road sign. He'd realized that he'd been driving for a long time, in a distant way--it had been fairly early in the afternoon when he'd left the apartment--but if he was in Boise, it meant he'd driven through two states without even noticing.

Resisting the urge to start swearing, he picked a hotel at random, based mostly on it being the first one he saw. It was part of a global chain, and not one of the better ones, but he didn't care. He pulled into a spot marked OFFICE ONLY and walked into the lobby, where a bored-looking man with a greasy comb-over sat behind the counter.

Leonard strode up and said without any preamble, "I'd like a room, please."

The man eyed Leonard up and down. "For the night, or just for a couple hours?"

The question didn't even register as being odd, which was a sign of how tired and keyed-up Leonard was. "Night."

The man gave him a price. Leonard grimaced, but handed over his card; a minute later, the man handed it back, along with a room key. "113. Just along the back there. Check-out is by noon."

"Thanks." Leonard turned on his heel and strode out without another word.

The room was small, and smelled faintly musty; the mirror was cracked, and the drawer held, in addition to an antique Gideon Bible, a handful of condoms and a cheap bottle of lube. Leonard shuddered inwardly as he tossed his bag onto the floor, then sat on the end of the bed.

He missed Jim. That was the plain and simple fact of it. He was still angry with him, but he honestly couldn't say why. Still, he missed him, and he was almost willing to be the first to say he was sorry. He was actually reaching for his comm when he thought better of it.

 _Don't flatter yourself._ The way Jim had spat those words at him...like Leonard didn't mean anything to him. Like the past year had been worthless. Leonard snorted with anger and withdrew his hand. Let Jim go to the hobgoblin for friendship. Obviously he didn't want Leonard's.

A knock on the door startled him. He got to his feet and padded over, expecting room service or housekeeping or a manager come to make sure he was all right, although he didn't know why they'd be coming around this late at night. Abruptly, he yanked the door open. "Yes? What do you--"

He stopped abruptly, because the figure on the doorstep was decidedly _not_ a motel employee, unless they had added some unusual new services to their repertoire. The man wore a black leather vest open across a set of impressive abs, a studded black leather hat, a pair of tight shorts, and a pair of thigh-high boots. He was pale and slender, although he obviously worked out, and he wore more makeup than Leonard had seen on anyone since his honeymoon in New Orleans for Mardi Gras, which somehow went with his large black handlebar moustache. He held a paper bag with a bottle in it loosely in his left hand while leaning his right arm against the doorframe.

"Hiya, big boy," he said in a deep, rough voice, a seductive smile playing about his lips. "Care for a drink?"

Leonard should have slammed the door in the man's face. Instead, he took a step back, allowing the other to come in, and shut the door behind him.

The bag turned out to contain a bottle of scotch, not Leonard's first choice when it came to alcohol, but it would do. Eschewing the wax-lined cups provided by the hotel, they passed the bottle back and forth, enjoying the burn as it trickled down their throats. The other man--whose name, or at least his working name, was Starbuck--kept up a steady flow of chatter, most of it nonsense, none of it touching on anything personal about either of them beyond their names. Finally, as they finished off the last of the drink, he set the bottle on the nightstand and looked Leonard in the eye.

"Let's have a little fun, huh, Leonard?" he said in a soft, sultry, persuasive voice.

He leaned over and kissed Leonard full on the lips. One hand slid under his shirt; the other tugged on the belt loop of his pants. Leonard was drunk and he was hurting and he was still angry. He parted his lips slightly, returning the kiss. It was all the invitation Starbuck needed.

Leonard and Jim didn't exactly have set roles in their relationship, but Leonard tended to top, for a few reasons. It quickly became obvious, however, that Starbuck was not the kind of hooker to lie back and let his client have all the fun. Within a few moments, Leonard was naked, face-down on the bed with his ass in the air, gasping and moaning into the pillow as Starbuck worked him open with four fingers.

"Oh, yeah, baby, you're doing good," Starbuck growled. "Almost ready. You sure you're okay with this?"

"Yes, God, yes," Leonard panted. Somewhere in the back of his mind, his rational self was shouting at the rest of him, demanding to know what in God's name he thought he was _doing,_ he didn't know this guy from Adam. The rest of him, the part that was still angry and hurt, told his rational self to shut the hell up.

And then, abruptly, Starbuck thrust deep inside of him, and Leonard let out an animalistic cry.

It was hard and fast and a little rougher than Leonard was used to, at least from this end. Sometimes Jim--but that line of thought didn't stand much of a chance as Starbuck hit Leonard's prostate and his vision went white for a minute. The man was big--just how big, Leonard hadn't exactly seen before he'd been on his belly, but he could feel it, and it was definitely the largest thing he'd ever had inside of him. It was somewhat painful, actually, but part of him didn't care. He found himself pushing back against Starbuck, almost involuntarily, inviting those thrusts to come harder and faster.

Leonard was almost at the point of orgasm when Starbuck threw back his head and let out a scream. Something hot and wet exploded inside of Leonard. The sensation meant something, he thought distantly--something important--but for the life of him, he couldn't think what.

Before he had time to react, Starbuck pulled out of him with a sound like a cork coming out of a bottle. Leonard gasped at the sudden loss of the contact, and then Starbuck nipped at the top of his shoulder. "Roll over, big fella," he said in a slightly hoarse voice.

It never really crossed Leonard's mind not to obey. He turned over onto his back and looked up at the man, whose eyes met his for the briefest of seconds before he slid down the length of Leonard's body, pressing his fingers deeply into the flesh. Starbuck's mouth closed over Leonard's cock, and he began working the erect organ with expert movements, digging his hands into Leonard's thighs.

As close as he was, the combination of sensations was too much for Leonard. He through back his head and came with an involuntary cry. _"Jim!"_

Starbuck popped off the head of Leonard's cock, licking his lips like he'd just finished a gourmet meal. He pressed a kiss to the inside of Leonard's thigh, then to his belly, then to his ribs before laying down on top of Leonard and kissing him on the lips one more time. His mouth was sticky and salty with Leonard's come.

"You're pretty good at this," he told Leonard huskily.

Leonard's head was still kind of spinning. He didn't respond. Starbuck kissed him again, gave his ass cheek a pinch, and got up from the bed. In less time than it had taken him to peel Leonard's clothes off, he got his own back on.

The click of his heel against the bedframe roused Leonard. He propped himself up on his elbows and managed to focus on Starbuck. "How much do I owe you?" he asked, a little fuzzily. It suddenly occurred to him that a price had never been discussed beforehand.

Starbuck stopped, glanced over his shoulder, and laughed. " _Owe_ me? You think I'm a working guy?"

"You're not?" Leonard blurted.

"Hell, naw. I was just looking for a good time. Saw you come in and thought you'd fit the bill nicely. Thanks for all that, Leonard." Starbuck winked and started for the door. As he put his hand on the lever, he paused and glanced back at Leonard, who was still half-propped up on the bed, staring at him dumbly.

"I don't know who Jim is," he said seriously, "but he's one lucky son-of-a-bitch."

With that, he opened the door and was gone.

The blast of cool air from the outside had a better effect on Leonard than a full night's sleep and a gallon of coffee. His head suddenly cleared, the effects of the scotch burning away, and he sat bolt upright, staring down at himself--his naked body, the bruises beginning to form on his flesh, the stains of come on the sheets and on his own skin. That's when it hit him for the first time what he had done, what had happened.

He'd let a complete stranger fuck him into the mattress, then practically suck his brains out through his cock. And neither one of them had been wearing a condom.

Suddenly trembling, realizing what he'd agreed to, what he'd entered into _willingly,_ for God's sake, Leonard jumped out of the bed and barely made it to the bathroom before he was emptying the contents of his stomach into the toilet. He flushed the mess down the drain, then sat for a few moments, his head resting against the rim of the toilet.

At last, he dragged himself to his feet and turned on the shower. He stood under the spray like sharp stones, letting it assault his already sore body, then grabbed the thin bar of motel soap and a washcloth. Lathering it up, he scrubbed harshly at his skin until it was raw and red, trying to wash away the memory of what he'd done.

Finally, he acknowledged there was nothing more he could do. Dropping the washcloth to the bottom of the tub, he turned off the water, dried himself roughly, and went back into the bedroom. Sleeping on the stained sheets was obviously out of the question, but the blankets had all been thrown clear before Starbuck had gotten started. Leonard tugged the scratchy comforter loose from the tangled mess and dragged it to the other side of the room. He threw the deadbolt on the door, then sat down on the carpet, still naked, and pulled the comforter over his lap.

He was getting ready to settle down into some serious self-recriminations when his comm started ringing.

Even though he knew it wouldn't be, even though he didn't _deserve_ it to be, Leonard reached eagerly for the device, hoping it would be Jim, hoping they could make up so he could beg forgiveness, even though he knew Jim would never forgive him for what he'd done. It wouldn't be Jim, he knew it wouldn't be Jim. He'd told Jim not to call, and Jim had basically said he wouldn't.

Still, he answered without looking, unable to keep the hopefulness out of his voice. "Hello?"

"Bones?" The voice on the other end was quiet and raw and a little desperate-sounding. "Bones, is that you?"

"Jim?" Leonard's eyes flooded with tears. "Jim, it's me, I'm--it's me."

There was a long silence. At first, Leonard thought Jim had broken the communication, or that his device had dropped it, but then Jim spoke again. "I know I said I wouldn't call, but--I need you, Bones. I need you. I--I'm sorry." His voice broke. "I'm so sorry. I know--I know we weren't--it wasn't _really_ about--oh, God, Bones, just please, please come home. I'm all alone. I need you. Now."

It was quarter after one. Leonard was still a little drunk from the half-bottle of scotch he'd consumed. But at the brokenness in Jim's voice--and the knowledge that _he_ had put it there--he was throwing back the blanket and scrabbling for his clothes. "I'm coming, Jim. Don't go anywhere, sweetheart. I'm coming home. I'll be there as quick as I can. Wait for me."

"Forever, Bones," Jim said, and Leonard could hear the tears in his voice.

"I promise it won't take nearly that long," he said softly.

It _seemed_ like it took that long. Leonard checked out of the motel--much to the clerk's dull surprise--got the biggest cup of coffee he could find, and drove straight through. He knew he was speeding, but he didn't care, and for some reason fate must've smiled on him, because he didn't get caught. Eight hours later, he was taking the steps to the apartment three at a time, too impatient to wait for the lift.

When he burst through the door of the apartment, Jim was pacing in the living room. His face was pale, and there were dark circles under both eyes, but his expression, as he saw Leonard, was one of rising hope and relief. "Bones," he murmured.

Leonard crossed the room and pulled Jim to him in a tight, crushing hug, letting the tears finally spill down his cheeks. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "Oh, God, darlin', I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have--and I didn't mean--oh, God. I love you so much. Can you ever forgive me?"

Jim gave a wet, shaky laugh, clinging tightly to Leonard. "Can _I_ forgive you? I'm the one that drove you out."

"No, Jim, you didn't. I just--I let things get to me that I should've--and then I--" Leonard couldn't complete a sentence to save his life. "I love you," he repeated.

"I love you, too, Bones," Jim whispered. "And I'm sorry. I should've told you sooner."

Leonard pulled back slightly, worry in his eyes. "Told me what?"

"Why I was--what I was so mad about." Jim lowered his eyes.

"I think we both need to tell each other that," Leonard said softly. He guided Jim over to the sofa. "Do you want to go first, or shall I?"

"I will." Jim looked down at his hands. "I--Bones, when I died...I wanted you there. I _begged_ for Scotty to call you. But--you didn't come. I needed you, and you w-weren't there. So...I guess I've been punishing you for that, without telling you I was. But--God, Bones, why didn't you come when I needed you? Why would you leave me when I needed you the most?"

Leonard's heart broke. "Hear this now," he said, quietly but firmly. "I will _always_ come when you need me. I would never have--not if I'd known. But I _didn't know,_ Jim."

Jim looked up quickly, his face pale and his eyes full of unshed tears. "Wh-what?"

"A lot of the systems got damaged in the fight," Leonard said. "Including the communications system. Med Bay wasn't receiving incoming calls. The first I knew of--of anything was when they brought the body bag up to me. I couldn't understand why Scotty looked at me so strangely when I asked who was in it, and then I unzipped it and saw you..." His voice broke and he looked away. "I never would have left you if I'd known, Jim. I swear it. I'd have been there even if all I could've done was pound helplessly on the glass."

"Oh, God, Bones," Jim whimpered. "God, I--I'm so sorry, I--"

"No, wait, it's my turn," Leonard cut him off. He looked back up at Jim. "I've been angry at you, too, and it wasn't until I was driving home today that I finally realized why. It's because you died--well, no, that's not right. It's because you sacrificed yourself for the ship."

"I had to, Bones," Jim said. "I had to save the ship. I had to save _you._ "

"Dammit, Jim, I know that--but don't you know that I need you to be safe? I need you, too, Jim. I need you like I need air. I can't live without you. I know. I've tried. If that tribble hadn't moved when it had, I'd've sunk too far to notice and I--" Leonard's voice cracked. He took a deep breath and said in a low voice, "I would've given up. I'd have joined you and we'd _both_ be dead."

Jim stared at him for a long moment. Finally, he said quietly, "I can't promise I'll never do it again, Bones. I'd give anything to keep you alive and safe."

Leonard sighed. "I know. And I can't blame you--because I'd do the same thing. Just--just promise me that you'll try to hang on until I get there, okay?"

"You, too, Bones," Jim said. "Promise me you won't leave without saying goodbye."

"Never," Leonard promised. "Never again."

Jim leaned over to kiss him, but the memory of the night before flooded Leonard, and he put a hand to Jim's sternum. "Jim, wait. There's--there's something I need to tell you."

He told Jim everything. About the drive, the motel room, the knock on the door, the scotch, the sex. He took all the blame on himself, was careful to make sure Jim knew that he had consented, basically, to everything that had happened.

"I know I don't deserve your forgiveness," Leonard concluded, looking away. "But--I'm sorry, Jim. I'm so damned sorry."

Jim caught Leonard's chin with two fingers and turned him to face him again. They stared into one another's eyes for a moment, then Jim leaned forward and kissed him, ever so lightly, on the lips.

"I forgive you, Bones," he said softly. "I love you. Nothing will ever change that."

"I love you too," Leonard whispered, tears in his eyes.

Jim stroked his cheek. "Do you think--do you think you're okay?"

"I don't know," Leonard said honestly. "I think so. But I don't know."

"Okay. Here's what we're going to do." Jim took a deep breath. "We're going to the clinic, to get you checked out. And then we're coming back here, and we're going to just sit here. Together. Okay? I want you to hold me like you'll never let me go. Please, Bones. I still need you."

Touched by Jim's concern, Leonard cuddled his lover close. They still had a lot they needed to talk about, but for now, they had it all out, and Leonard felt safe once more.

"I won't let you go, Jim," he whispered. "That's a promise."


End file.
